


stripped (down to the bone)

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Choking, Elias is a little shit, M/M, Nonconsensual Touching, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prison AU, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, disgraced noble!Elias Bouchard, forcible stripping, not remotely historically accurate, pirate Peter Lukas, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 01:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: Disgraced noble Elias Bouchard is not cut out for prison. Hopefully his mouth won't get him into too much trouble.





	stripped (down to the bone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [j_quadrifrons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/gifts).

Elias was incredibly tired. He’d been shaken awake before dawn for his sentencing, without so much as a drop of tea or a crust of bread to break his fast. There had been dozens of prisoners before him, and the judge who’d handed down his sentence had scarcely looked at him, lip curling in disgust as he read out the charges. There’d been snickers from the assembled crowd. Elias had stared straight ahead, but he could feel the eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the disgraced libertine. 

Afterwards he’d been shoved into a crowded coach, which took him to an equally crowded holding room that reeked of too much human flesh in too close quarters. The men around him were none too impressed with Elias’s crisp diction, nor his tailored clothing, tattered as it was. That was fine; Elias could be unimpressed, too. Unfortunately, the men did not seem to find him remotely intimidating, and he was subject to more than a few “accidental” shoves. 

Finally his name was called, and he was led down a dark hallway and into a smaller room. It wasn’t much to look at, empty except three guardsmen, a cabinet, and a narrow bench. A barred window looked out into what appeared to be the common area; men milled about, or sat together in groups, playing with tattered cards or dice. A few shot him knowing looks, and he stared back, drawing himself to his full height. 

“Bouchard?” one of the guardsmen asked, clearly bored. He held a pen in one hand and a notebook in the other, clearly waiting to check off his list. 

“As far as I know,” Elias drawled.

The guard shot him a withering look. “Off with your kit, then.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Let me put it in simple terms for you, m’lord,” another guardsman said mockingly. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

“I’ll do no such thing!” Elias snapped.

Before Elias could move, one of them seized him by the hair, wrenching his head back painfully. Two others grabbed his arms and kicked his legs open. He panted, vision blurring with tears. 

“You seem to think your fancy titles mean somethin’,” said the man behind him, yanking hard at Elias’s hair for emphasis. “They don’t. You’re gonna strip off, same as everybody else. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone will like what they see. Keep ‘em from slitting your throat the first week in.”

Shame made his face burn and his mouth dry; he was suddenly, horrifically conscious of the window overlooking the common area. He spared it a glance, and was startled to find someone staring directly at him. 

The man was tall and broad, with dark hair greying at the temples. His shoulders strained the fabric of the prison uniform. None of that was as striking as his eyes: a deep and stormy blue that seemed to pierce Elias to his core, as if they could see right through to the heart of him. His full lips were curved into a smirk. Elias found himself pinned by that gaze, helpless to look away.

Someone tore at his waistcoat, sending the buttons flying. The buttons alone were probably worth more than these men made in a month, Elias thought ruefully. His valet would have a fit. Assuming he hadn’t already fled London to avoid the scandal. 

“This is uncalled for!” Elias snapped as they wrestled him out of the waistcoat, then commenced pawing at his shirt. Someone grabbed hold of his tie and pulled it until he choked. He struggled against the hold on his arms, but to no avail. Dark spots danced across his vision, and he felt himself sag in their grip, wondering if they would dare kill him. He’d nearly given up before they finally loosened their hold, and he gasped for air. 

The man outside was still watching him, a curious look in his storm-blue eyes. Elias stared back as the men ripped open his shirt, wrenching his arm painfully. Someone slapped him so hard his ears rang, and he blinked away tears. 

“You distracted, Bouchard?” one of the men demanded. 

“Awfully rude of you,” another commented. 

A fist slammed into Elias’s stomach. He tried to curl in on himself, but the grip on him was too tight. Someone clawed at his trousers, and he thrashed violently. 

“No!” he shouted, earning another slap. Someone yanked at his tie again, cutting off his air, and he stopped struggling, hoping it would earn him a shred of mercy. Mercy, however, seemed to be in short supply. 

“Nothin’ we haven’t seen before,” growled a voice in his ear. “Surprised you’re puttin’ up a fight, you bein’ a cocksucker an’ all.” 

The man outside was still watching him, even as the guards pulled his trousers and drawers down in one motion, exposing him to anyone who cared to see. His lungs screamed for air, and tears rolled down his face as someone pinched his buttocks hard. 

Someone shoved him against the bench, wrenching his arms behind his back and bending him over the splintered wood. Hands prodded at his arse and spread his cheeks to reveal his hole. Panic rose in his chest, making his heart beat against his ribcage like a trapped animal. 

“You’d better not be smuggling anything in there,” one of them growled, slapping his arse. He squirmed away, and they chuckled cruelly. 

Just as he was ready to collapse, they loosened the grip on his tie. Tears and snot ran down his face as he took great, heaving breaths, trying to will away the throbbing pain in his head. If this was how he could expect the rest of his sentence to go, he should have let them hang him. 

Something soft fell over his head, obscuring his vison, and the men laughed again. 

“Put these on before we send you out there starkers,” one of them threatened. 

Elias scrambled to pull the threadbare shirt over his head, shedding the trousers that were still around his ankles. The uniform was tight across the chest, but the trousers sagged around his waist, barely held up by the frayed belt. A far cry from his days as one of the best-dressed men in London. The socks had holes in them, and the shoes were too large, but he didn’t dare complain. 

One of the guards seized his hair again, pulling him to his feet before shoving him towards the door. “Welcome to Millbank,” he said, pushing Elias out the door. 

Elias wiped his face with his sleeve, wrinkling his nose at the smell of mildew in the fabric. There was no hiding his red-rimmed eyes, but he could at the very least present a clean face. 

His eyes searched the room until they found the man from before. He was seated next to a group of rough-looking men, playing some sort of game with dice, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t witnessed the worst humiliation of Elias’s life. His fists tightened by his sides. 

He turned to a man standing near him, who seemed safe enough. 

“Excuse me,” he said. “Who is that?”

The man followed his gaze, then immediately blanched. 

“Captain Lukas?” the man asked, shaking his head. “Stay well clear of him.” 

“What for?” he demanded.

The man shook his head again, turning away from him in a clear dismissal. Elias seethed. He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored. In fact, he had half a mind to walk right up to Captain Lukas and—

A hand settled on the small of his back, and he flinched, turning to see what must have been the largest man in all of England looming over him. 

“I beg your pardon,” Elias said stiffly. 

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” the man asked. His voice was low and gravelly, barely distinguishable from the din of the common area. 

“Nothing of concern to you,” Elias sneered. 

Despite his bravado, he took a step back, then another, until he was nearly against the wall. The man smirked as he hemmed him in. His eyes glowed with a sadistic glee. 

“I’ll decide that,” the man said, leaning so close that Elias could smell his sour breath. “You look like a screamer. I _ like _screamers.”

Elias swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond without giving the brute more ammunition. His gaze darted left and right, looking for an ally, but no one met his gaze. Unsurprising; there was no one to care what happened to him. He doubted his own family would face down such a creature, even before the trial. 

“I don’t think you’d like me,” Elias said, licking his lips nervously. “My conversational skills are quite mediocre, and my manners? Nigh on nonexistent.”

“Don’t matter if I’m fucking your soft little mouth,” the man said, staring intently. 

Elias’s breath caught in his throat. Christ, he hoped the brute wasn’t proportional. Elias was used to soft beds and hours of foreplay, with plenty of oil on hand. He doubted he’d get more than spit and a moment’s warning in a place like this. 

“I think you’ve got the wrong impression—” Elias began, breaking off with a low grunt when the man’s hand closed on his shoulder with bruising force. He grimaced, trying to shake free, but the brute only squeezed tighter. 

_ “You’ve _ got the wrong impression,” his assailant corrected. “Why don’t you come nice and quiet, and we’ll get to know each other?”

“Ah, Mr. Hopworth,” a low voice interrupted. “I see you’ve met my friend.”

The man—Hopworth—released him, and Elias rubbed his shoulder with a wince. 

“He don’t look like a friend of yours,” Hopworth said, turning to glare at Captain Lukas. 

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Lukas said with a cold smile. “For instance, right now, it _ appears _you’re mishandling my dear friend. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to think that.”

Hopworth scowled at Lukas, then Elias. Elias did his best to look confident, which wasn’t much, given his flushed face and disheveled clothing. Finally the man took a step back. 

“Excellent,” Lukas said, throwing an arm around Elias’s shoulder. 

Elias decided to allow it, following Lukas back to his circle of comrades, who were all eyeing him with curiosity.

"Who's the toff?" asked a particularly grizzled specimen. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at Elias, who answered, "Elias Bouchard. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"There you have it, Thaddeus," Peter said, nodding, then turned to Elias. "That one's Martin, and there's Tim and Gerry. Basira and Daisy are in the other wing."

The first man was tall and broad like Lukas, but with a boyish round face more suited to the seminary than a life of piracy. Tim proved to be a lithely muscled man with dreadlocks pulled back from his face, while Gerry was a slender fellow with rings through his nose, lips, and ears. His hair was blond at the roots, fading to a dark brown that might once have been black. The three greeted him with varying levels of enthusiasm, with Martin being the friendliest and Gerry the most suspicious. 

"I suppose I owe you my thanks," Elias said, turning to Peter. "Though I don't think you did it out of the goodness of your heart."

Tim barked out a laugh, while Gerry scowled. 

"No," Lukas said. "I'm afraid I don't have one of those."

"Then what was your motivation?" Elias asked. He had a feeling he knew the answer, but he refused to say it. Not if there was another way. 

Lukas looked down at him, fixing him with that merciless blue gaze. It left Elias feeling unanchored, unmoored; he could drown in a stare like that. 

"You'll find out soon enough," he said cryptically.

Before Elias could demand a proper response, a shrill whistle sounded—apparently the call to the evening meal. He spared a glance back at Hopworth, whose eyes were burning a hole through his shoulders, and shuddered. 

It appeared he had two choices: the devil he knew, or the one he didn’t. The brute he’d left behind, or the smiling man who cowed a man twice his size without so much as raising his voice. 

"Coming?" Martin asked shyly, eyeing the queue forming for the mess hall. 

Lukas was already leaving. He was clearly the sort of man who expected to be followed. 

"I believe so," Elias said quietly. 

Martin took his arm, promising to look at his injuries later, and Elias followed them to whatever fate had chosen for him. 

He was, after all, incredibly tired. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not the last we'll see of this AU. Feel free to prompt me for [Bad Things Happen Bingo](https://fataldrum.tumblr.com/tagged/bthb)! 
> 
> Many thanks to Jenavira, for prompting and supporting; April, for checking to make sure it didn't suck; and for the rest of my lovely fandom friends for enabling me. Title ripped from Depeche Mode because I'm gay. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, let me know! Your comments give me life. <3


End file.
